


no mourners, no funerals

by princessoftheworlds



Series: It's not a crime to love what you cannot explain [26]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Caroline as Inej, F/M, Klaus as Kaz, Minor Character Death, Six of Crows!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 17:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16685971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: Klaus Mikaelson is known to the city of Mystic Falls as Dirtyhands, the notorious crime boss. By his side is always his faithful spy Caroline, who they call the Wraith. Together, they're unstoppable, and not even the Ice Court, the largest military stronghold in the world, will be able to keep them out.





	no mourners, no funerals

With steady hands but cautious eyes, Alaric Saltzman pulls his front door shut quietly, sliding the bolt forward until it clicks into place with a clink. After tugging on the door to ensure its sturdiness and security, Alaric finally breathes a sigh of relief and slumps forward, resting his forehead on the cool wood.

His family is safe for another night, his wife Josette and their beautiful daughters Josie and Lizzie tucked into the lone bed of their residence.

Alaric’s spent the last week living in paranoia, constantly checking over his shoulder and hurrying through the public squares of Mystic Falls in case of a tail; one does not steal from Dirtyhands or the Dregs, especially as an employee of one of their gambling establishments, and expect to live. But that will all end tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Alaric will march to the Abattoir, the Dregs’ headquarters, under the guise of returning Dirtyhands’ money and slit the cruel bastard’s throat from ear-to-ear.

With that last thought of satisfying revenge on his mind, Alaric turns around to face his living room and startles.

Seated on Alaric’s threadbare couch is Dirtyhands himself, spine slumped against the back of the chair and legs flung out in front of him.

“Hello, Mr. Saltzman,” Klaus Mikaelson says with a menacing smile. “Did you think you could steal from me and I wouldn’t notice?”

Alaric takes a step forward, hand reaching inside his jacket, but before he can produce his gun, a blur of silver flies towards him, a projectile flung by Klaus.

It pierces the skin of his chest just as Klaus stretches slowly to his feet and stalks past a collapsing Alaric.

“Don’t worry about your children,” Klaus warns as Alaric once again reaches fruitlessly for his weapon. “Your life was the price you had to pay for their safety. The Dregs will never hurt them, but no one in Mystic Falls will ever help the family of the man who betrayed Dirtyhands. Remember that.”

Then, Klaus strides out of the Saltzman home, trailing bloody footprints behind him.

 

* * *

 

Caroline’s perched on his desk when Klaus comes sauntering into his office. Immediately, she locks eyes with him and smiles.

“Done with business?” she asks, learning forward. Her gaze moves from his face to the large and obvious bloodstain on his white dress shirt that is revealed as he strips off his dark coat and drapes it over the back of his chair.

“Alaric Saltzman won’t be bothering us anymore,” he answers, hands slowly working the buttons of his shirt. He slips it off and balls it up, tossing it off in a corner.

Caroline snorts. “Dramatic, much? You can’t just ever say that you killed him.” She watches him shrug.

Seat on his desk, with her legs swinging freely and her hair loose and messy down her back, no one would ever suspect Caroline Forbes as a spy and assassin. No, you would have to see her with a knife in hand to realize that she’s the Dregs’ deadliest weapon, the Wraith.

Water sloshes over the edge of a washbasin set on a side table as Klaus plunges a spare cloth into the basin, scrubbing between his pectorals and down his front to wipe away the blood crusted onto his skin. A spare droplet leaks away from the cloth and follows down the muscular ripples of Klaus’s abdomen, and Caroline traces that path with her eyes.

“Any update on Gilbert?” Klaus asks. In the minutes that Caroline was distracted, he’s pulled on a new dress shirt, black to match his slacks and leather boots, and is doing up the buttons.

“For a businessman and merchant,” Caroline drawls, “John Gilbert doesn’t seem to leave his mansion very often. One of his paper-pushers has been yapping around however at certain gambling houses that belong to the Dregs. Word got around, and apparently, a priceless collection of art is being delivered to his mansion the same day Gilbert will be away on a trip to the neighboring city next week.”

His brow furrows, but he doesn’t respond, so Caroline continues, “Should I ask Marcel to put a team together? I think Davina’s finished her training, so she might be ready.”

“Don’t bother,” he murmurs thoughtfully, so quiet that Caroline almost thinks he said nothing.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“I’ll go alone.”

 

* * *

 

The tumblers in the lock click into place, and Klaus pulls both his ear and his tools away from the safe door, reaching up to tug it open.

The edges of the door scrap harshly along the weathered wood of the desk that the safe is placed on, but Klaus doesn’t give a damn. He’s here for the art and the art alone.

Besides, John Gilbert can just pay a pretty penny to have his desk repaired; it’ll be loose change for him.

The safe finally opens completely, and he kneels to take a peak inside only to find it empty.

“Wow,” a man says from the doorway of the office. “You are every good as they say. Even my most intelligent employees couldn’t crack into that safe.”

Within seconds, Klaus is on his feet and facing the intruder, a wickedly-sharp knife brandished before him. He immediately recognizes the man and maintains his defensive position; angled away from him, Klaus worms his other hand into his back pocket and slips on his pair of brass knuckles. “What can I say, Mr. Gilbert?” he counters smoothly. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

John Gilbert, broad and with a receding hairline of blond, chuckles. “I was banking on that, Mr. Mikaelson, seeing as I was hoping to hire you.”

“For what?” Klaus demands, tossing the knife dramatically in the air and grasping it by the handle when it swings down. Just as he intended, Gilbert’s eyes follow the trajectory of the blade and land on Klaus’s hand as he slips it back up his sleeve.

“No need for the theatrics, Mr. Mikaelson,” Gilbert continues. “You’ve already proven your skill. Consider this to have been an audition.”

Klaus’s eyes narrow. “Your most talkative employee was intentionally fed valuable information, was he not?” He doesn’t wait for Gilbert to nod; he already knows the answer. “For a wealthy merchant, you seem to know the inner-workings of the city’s underbelly rather closely.”

“I make it a point to know how my city is run,” Gilbert retorts. “We are both men of Mystic Falls and utilize the city well.”

“Wonderful,” Klaus states. “Now, why would a merchant require a gang leader’s help? Surely, knowing how Mystic Fall is run, you know several others who would aid you?”

Gilbert ignores his second question. “Have you heard of the Ice Court in Fjerda?”

Klaus snorts. “Of course. The largest military stronghold in the world. Accessible to only Fjerdan royalty and soldiers.”

“I have a valuable asset detained there,” Gilbert explains. “I want it retrieved by you and your Dregs.”

“And why would we do that for you?”

“Thirty million kruge.”

Stiffening in place, Klaus whistles slowly. “Quite a hefty sum. What could be worth that much in the Ice Court?”

“Who could, you mean,” Gilbert replies. “Katerina Petrova, a Ravkan. A Grisha.”

“No Grisha’s that important,” Klaus counters swiftly.

“She is.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a random drabble that I was inspired to write. I may or may not add to. Who knows?


End file.
